


Veni foras satanas

by saderaladon



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Slapping, Consent Issues, Cruelty and Kindness, Crying, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dirty Talk About Feces, Disturbing monologues, Disturbing thoughts, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fear, Foot Fetish, Ginger Fish is loved, Guilt, John 5 is reprimanded, John 5 plays with fire, M/M, Metaphorical Horrors, Multi, Nipple Clamps, Offensive Dirty Talk, Poor Ginger Fish, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Shame, Smoking, Sorta Double Anal Penetration, Threesome - M/M/M, Tim Skold laughs in everybody's faces, Tim Skold laughs in the face of terror, complicated feelings, disgust, emotional torture, very homo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 21:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19449544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saderaladon/pseuds/saderaladon
Summary: The guys behold what they are.While fucking, obviously.





	Veni foras satanas

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I told my inner Tim Skold about my plans and he laughed in my face.
> 
> This text is a sequel to all previous Manson fics of mine. It doesn't make any fucking sense if you don't read the whole volume of them. It doesn't make any fucking sense in general.
> 
> This text is set a few weeks after Ginger and John return from the tour they do after they leave Amsterdam. It is actually a bit more confusing than that, so feel free to drop me a line and ask me questions if you don't get who went where and when. Don't ask me why, though, it is all for literature.
> 
> This text will probably cause you substantial distress. It caused distress to everybody participating in it. It caused distress to the author.  
> I am including "consent issues" and "emotional torture" as warnings because I think several scenes might qualify. Beware.  
> Human feces are being discussed in this text. Human feces might be even present, but there is only one person who knows that for sure and he doesn't give a fuck.  
> Scary things happen in this text.  
> Rude words are used in this text.  
> It is all for a reason, but it's fucking freaky anyway.
> 
> Don't try anything like that at home.  
> But if you do, Tim Skold just might accept the blame.
> 
> It is not the end.
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> English is not my native language. Please make me face my mistakes.  
> Everyone here is fictional and doesn't belong to me. Everyone here is fucking insane.

***

The keys he's been fumbling with drop on the ground and he curses, bending to pick them up. The door opens.

"Hey," Tim says, straightening up and seeing Ginger standing there in the doorway: pale face, messy hair, complete lack of pants. "Why are you up? It's four in the fucking morning. I told you not to wait for me."

Ginger shrugs and grabs at his bag, pulling it and Tim inside.

"Okay, whatever," Tim says and gets in. "I need nutrients and cigarettes. Or cigarettes and nutrients. And then cuddling. I am ashamed to say, but I need cuddling."

Ginger laughs.

"There's beer and yesterday's pizza in the fridge," he says, Tim following him into the kitchen, both of them stumbling. "And I made you a sandwich."

Tim takes a swig from the bottle, leaning on the table and looking at Ginger sitting on the chair next to a disaster on a plate.

"That doesn't look edible," Tim says, pointing at the thing.

"You don't look alive," Ginger says and holds the plate up.

Tim sighs, grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite.

"How was your trip?" Ginger asks, lighting up a cigarette.

"Hm," Tim says, chewing. "Let me think. Like I was being gruesomely murdered every day by a particularly obtuse killer. Cut open with a plastic knife. Stabbed to death with matches. Throttled by a toddler. Something like that. I should fucking stop agreeing to help people."

Ginger chuckles softly and takes a drag.

"Fuck it, whatever," Tim says and sinks his teeth into Ginger's calamity again. "It's over. How have you guys been? I didn't even have time to call. Did anything fun? Anything nasty?"

"John's out of town," Ginger says, and Tim raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, he left like four days after you did. Somebody'd invited him to play solo for a couple of weeks."

"Fuck," Tim says and lights up a cigarette. "When will he finally get old?"

Ginger smiles and takes a swig from Tim's bottle.

"When is he coming back?" Tim asks, finishing the rest of the cooking catastrophe.

"Should be soon, I am not sure," Ginger says. "He said he'd call."

"Okay," Tim says. "Whatever, we can have some fun without him. Fuck the virtuoso. It's just us sea creatures for now. I still feel like I haven't seen you in fucking ages. It's like we were just pounding his ass all that week after your stupid hairy tour. Fucking John."

"He missed you," Ginger offers an explanation.

"He's just fucking greedy," Tim objects. "The fuck did he go away then if he missed me so much? He's just a traitor squared. Fuck, I am so teaching him a lesson when he comes back."

Ginger snorts, and then they just smoke for a while.

"Okay, squid," Tim says, throwing the beer bottle away. "Time to grope me with your lovey-dovey tentacles. Feel free to molest me all night. Oh, and I fully expect a proper morning erection."

Ginger pushes him, and they tumble into the bedroom, laughing and pulling clothes off each other.

"Thanks for waiting for me," Tim mutters, falling asleep with his snout pressed into Ginger's hair, Ginger's exsessive plasma sprouts engulfing his battered wooden body.

***

"You're the most reliable ocean dweller I've ever met," Tim whispers with a smirk, trying to flip Ginger over. "That's a really nice boner you're trying to hide there."

Ginger moans sleepily and makes an attempt to kick him with his feet.

"Come on," Tim says, succeeding in his object rotation task. "I want your fucking cock. Nothing of mine touched it forever. A whining idiot was always in the way."

Ginger laughs and open his eyes, letting Tim wrap his hand around his trustworthy morning erection.

"Your cock did," Ginger objects, letting out a breathy sound. "When we... you know."

"Fuck, you're a precise perisher," Tim says, chuckling. "Your hand too, please. I am rejecting my Stiff Tim path for today."

Ginger moans and takes Tim's cock in his hand as well.

"And harder," Tim adds. "Don't give me this mild bullshit. Don't forget who you're with here."

Ginger tightens his grip, and Tim smiles, baring his teeth at him.

"Want spit?" he asks some seconds later, looking at Ginger's wrinkled face, his lips slightly parted, his eyes moving up and down slowly.

"Yeah," Ginger says. "And..."

"And to chew on my lips, I can see that," Tim says, smirking and spitting into his palm. "You'll have to wait. You're not enough of a squirming goo just yet."

"Fuck you," Ginger says and then gasps, when Tim puts his wet hand back on his cock, proceeding to rub at the tip. "Fuck. Tim."

Tim chuckles again.

"Yeah, that's better," he says.

They jerk each other off for some time, Tim playing hide and seek with Ginger's cock, not letting him get enough friction, until Ginger falters in performing his crushing task on Tim, his hand starting to stutter, his eyes gradually going black.

"Okay, let me go," Tim says. "We're gonna take turns. Wanna see you writhe."

Ginger lets go of his cock, and Tim wraps his hand tight around Ginger's, allowing him to push in his palm, moving his hips.

"Oh God," Ginger says. "Gonna come."

"Show me your throat," Tim says, touching his teeth with his tongue. "Think about what I want to do to it. What I want to do to you."

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ginger says, arching his neck and lifting his chin, presenting Tim with his gulping throat.

"Give it to me," Tim says, watching Ginger come right after he utters this phrase, sweaty and shivering, his hand flying up several times and hovering in the air, as if lost.

"Come here," Tim says, when his orgasm is over. "Let's engage in your favorite face sucking."

They kiss, Ginger moaning softly into Tim's mouth, Tim's teeth always in the way of Ginger's tongue somehow.

"Give me your dumb hand," Tim instructs after they part.

He puts Ginger's hand around himself and his own hand over Ginger's, squeezing tight, crushing both it and his cock, looking at Ginger's pale wrinkled face.

"Should I... Should I open my mouth?" Ginger asks, almost whispering, Tim tasting blood on his tongue when he hears that.

"Sure, squid," he says, letting the blood out. "Of course."

He comes several seconds later in Ginger's accommodating palm staring at Ginger's accommodating open mouth, thinking about what he wants and most definitely will do to him.

Tim lights up two cigarettes for them and they smoke afterwards.

"You hungry?" he asks, combing Ginger's hair with his fingers.

"Not yet."

"Okay," Tim says. "That fridge is a crime scene. We're gonna take a shower and go out eat something. And then we're gonna go to the supermarket. Those moldy things have to go away."

Ginger laughs.

"Sorry," he says.

"No problem," Tim says, puffing out the smoke. "Tell me about the tour. You know, the you part of it. I want your solos and cunnilingus stories."

Ginger tells him about the tour, saying that John is indeed not the only one who gets to show his motherfucking skills more often than he did with Manson, Tim requesting to listen to Ginger's drumming performances after that. Ginger tells him about the cities they played in and the multiple statues Ginger touched various parts of. Ginger tells him about all the new friends he made and all the new fans he signed stuff for. Ginger tells him how he slept and about the food he tried, asking Tim if he can cook some of those things, Tim agreeing, but adding he is still waiting for those cunnilingus stories, a bit of physical altercation happening in the middle of the conversation at that point. Then Ginger reluctantly tells him about his oral endeavours.

"Okay, that's not bad," Tim says, chuckling. "If you subtract the number of nights you spent wasted it seems you were fucked pretty thoroughly. I mean, judging by the material our sweet whining idiot sent to me you two also weren't losing time."

"Fuck," Ginger says and tries to sit up. "Fuck, tell me you deleted those pictures."

Tim laughs and grabs him by his shoulder.

"Which ones?"

"Those ones."

"I am not sure I follow."

"Fuck, Tim."

Tim smirks and lights up another cigarette.

"I'm actually still a little confused about the arrangement there," he says, offering the smoke to Ginger. "Is it really both the feet and the nipples? How long did he have to suck you for before you agreed?"

"Fuck off," Ginger says, slapping his hand away. "Fuck you and your fucking clamps."

Tim takes a drag.

"So both," he says. "Nice. That will be repeated."

"Fucking hell, Tim," Ginger says and snatches the cigarette from him. "I look like an idiot because of those things."

"Nope," Tim objects. "You look like an idiot in general. With those things on you look like a sexy one."

"Fuck off," Ginger says, and they push each other some more.

"I am serious," Ginger says, when they fall back on the pillows. "This stuff makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh, I know," Tim confirms, looking at Ginger's miserable face. "That's why we're gonna do it all the time. Once the traitor squared comes back, that is, because I have no fucking idea where our pair is."

"Tim."

"Yeah, and that silliness up here," Tim continues, touching Ginger's temple with his fingers. "That I'm gonna address as well. I had a magnificent idea while I was gone. Found a lot of inspiration in a crappy hotel room. So I'll do some online shopping after we come back from the store."

"Fuck."

"Oh, and remind me to swing by the pharmacy," Tim says, sitting up. "I have a feeling shit's also going to be heavily involved in our activities for the next few days. Since we're left unsupervised for now."

They leave the house almost two hours later, having spent too much time in the shower, Tim washing Ginger's hair and running his palms over his vertebrae he shouldn't even have, informing him of that and asking him what is to be done about it, Ginger dropping the soap all the time, not knowing what to do with his hands and with himself, apart from maybe indeed letting Tim cut him open and pull his backbone out, and then even more time shoving things gone bad into the plastic bags in the kitchen, Ginger promising he'll clean the fridge once they come back, Tim mostly just whistling.

They have lunch, Ginger telling Tim about a couple of movies he watched while Tim was out of town, tortured in the studio, and then they walk around, listening to music in shared earphones, bumping into people. They buy a shit ton of food in the supermarket, Tim saying he'll try to conjure something similar to what Ginger's described to him earlier, even though it is probably going to suck, because Ginger doesn't exactly remember either the names of the dishes or the ingredients. When they return Ginger is exiled for some time, getting rid of the mold in the kitchen, and Tim does his online shopping, smoking and planning out their vile entertainment. He manages to cook something that doesn't suck and does resemble what Ginger was talking about after thirty minutes of pointing at pictures he found online and thoroughly questioning Ginger on the properties of those amazing fucking meals he's been having during his hairy tour.

They stuff their faces and play dumb games with a remote control. Then Tim ransacks the house looking for dildos, succeeding in locating the space cock, and Ginger fucks him with it, Tim on his back and slapping himself across the face way too many times, until Tim comes, and then fucks him without it until he himself comes, Tim still on his back and saying stupid things into Ginger's ear way too many times as well, Ginger beaming with happiness and affection on top of him, Tim explaining that this accommodating period of being nice is going to be over tomorrow and sticking his fingers between Ginger's cheeks after they are done, lying there with cigarettes in their mouths, sharing a bottle of beer.

"How's the shit fucking with John going on, by the way?" Tim asks, taking a drag. "I haven't received any material from him on that topic. Then again, maybe it's just got lost among all the cock sucking pictures he emailed me. Fucking tease."

Ginger laughs softly and shifts, trying to dodge Tim's fingers.

"Stop wriggling and tell me."

Ginger looks at him and sighs.

"What?" Tim asks.

"He... he fingered me a couple of times," Ginger utters slowly. "Was okay. You know, he talked about me doing that to him. What he liked and everything. And next time we did it at the same time."

"Okay," Tim says, nodding and puffing out the smoke. "Congratulations. Why all the sighing then?"

Ginger licks his lips.

"We tried fucking too," he says and turns his face away from Tim.

"Yeah?"

"And I freaked out."

Tim hums

"Like really freaked out."

Tim puts his hand on his chin and turns his face back.

"What happened?"

"Fuck,” Ginger says, closing his eyes for a moment. “The usual. And then... Then he tried...”

“Yeah?”

“Then he tried to do what you do,” Ginger hurries out in one go.

“Oh,” Tim says. “Didn’t work?”

Ginger shakes his head.

“I uh..” he says, sighing again. “I ran away into the bathroom and fucking cried for twenty minutes.”

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks.

“Jesus,” he says. “Come here.”

They hug, Tim running his palms over Ginger's shoulders.

"When was that?" he asks.

"When you were shooting the video," Ginger says. "A few days before you had a row on the phone with him."

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks.

"Oh," he says. "My timing is perfect as always."

Ginger makes a noise that is supposed to convey his limitless fucking understanding.

"Did you try again?"

"No," Ginger says and sighs one more time. "Fuck, I am so tired of this. Fucking hate myself."

 _Fuck_ , Tim thinks.

"Shut up," he says. "I'll think of something. If you still want to do it, of course."

"Yeah," Ginger says. "Okay."

"We'll put the nice talkative approach to the test when John comes back," Tim says contemplatively. "But for now we're gonna be really nasty. Well, I'm gonna be really nasty. You'll just cry and say you love me."

"Fuck you," Ginger says and shivers a little in his arms.

"You too," Tim says. "Come on. Let's sleep. Big day tomorrow."

***

"Here you go," Tim says, signing the paper and giving it back. "Thanks, guys. I'll take it from here."

"The fuck is that?" Ginger asks, sitting on the bed with a cigarette in his mouth, fumbling with the package, looking nervous.

Tim drags the box closer and fishes the knife out of his pants.

"Take a guess," he says, starting with the stabbing. "The shape is kinda suggestive."

"Fuck," Ginger says. "Tim."

"Yeah," Tim says, opening the box and trying to pull the mirror out. "Have you got the space cock?"

"I... Fucking hell," Ginger says. "Yes. Tim."

"Shut up and help me already," Tim says and throws the guidebook at him. "Read this, you philosophy genius. We need to put this thing on wheels."

 _And bring me four rusty nails, please_ , he thinks, touching his teeth with his tongue. _We're hiking up a hill just outside the walls of Jerusalem._

"Take off your dumb clothes," Tim instructs once the mirror is ready for use, standing there at the foot of the bed.

Ginger hesitates, looking up at him, and Tim smirks.

"What, are you gonna say no to me?" he asks.

"Fuck you," Ginger says, lowering his head and starting to undress after a few seconds.

Tim sits on his feet in the middle of the bed and pulls Ginger closer, his back pressed to his chest, Ginger trying to look anywhere but in the mirror.

Tim chuckles.

"Give me your hand," he says, opening the lube. "And take your position already. I wanna see your feet up in the air."

Ginger shivers.

"Fuck, Tim," he says, holding out his palm. "I don't think I ca—"

"It doesn't matter," Tim interrupts him. "You will do it anyway."

Ginger swallows hard, Tim pouring lube on his fingers.

"Come on," he says, nudging Ginger to move. "Get on with it. Eyes on the mirror."

Several seconds pass, the countdown in Tim's chest getting closer and closer to zero, Ginger looking at his smirking snout in the mirror and Tim looking back at him. Then Ginger puts his lube covered fingers on his hole on display in front of them, the nuke turning its ugly nose to the sky at once, smelling blood and starting to heat up rapidly, just like Ginger's body pressed into Tim does, the color leaving his face, a laboured breath escaping his lips when his finger gets in.

"Fuck," Ginger says and shivers. "I..."

"You're doing it," Tim says. "Don't try my patience. I'll fucking wipe the lube off your stupid fingers. We'll have real fun then."

Ginger's body goes tense for a moment and then he begins moving his hand, stretching himself.

Several more seconds pass, and a new color starts appearing on Ginger's pale face, his mouth opening slightly, and his laboured breath is now spiced up with some pitiful sound production.

"Look at your cock, Ginger," Tim says, his voice coming out full of teeth. "It seems you're thoroughly enjoying this reflective arrangement of mine."

Ginger shakes.

"Tim," he manages, the red spots on his cheeks now in full bloom.

"I am thoroughly enjoying it as well, if you're wondering," Tim says. "Add another finger."

Ginger tries looking away for a second, the muscles of his arm twitching. Then he pushes the third finger in slowly, his hole gradually giving in, Tim feeling sweat on his back pressed to his chest, watching Ginger's face in the mirror.

"How do you like your dirty fucking orifice?" Tim asks, chuckling. "Tight, right?"

Ginger moans, his face starting to crack.

"Tight and full of shit," Tim continues, putting one of his hands in Ginger's hair, keeping another one on his wet shoulder. "I bet you can feel your filth up there. I bet you can't wait to taste it."

Ginger gasps and goes into shock, convulsing there in front of the mirror, Tim holding him in place, pulling at his hair.

"I see you closing your eyes again and we're gonna be doing this all week," Tim says, when Ginger's body relaxes a little. "Every fucking day. In the morning and in the evening."

"Tim," Ginger says, voice breaking. "I..."

"You're gonna stretch your dirty hole a bit more and then fuck yourself with our nice interstellar dildo until you come," Tim says, baring his teeth at Ginger's reflection. "And you're gonna watch yourself the entire time. The _entire_ fucking time, Ginger."

Ginger swallows hard.

"Okay," he squeezes out. "God, okay."

Tim pours lube on the space cock after another minute and puts it in Ginger's shaking hand, making him grip it tight.

"Get it in," Tim says, his palms on Ginger's shoulders now. "Hurt yourself if you feel like it."

"Tim," Ginger says and shivers. "My... My legs are tired."

"Yeah, so?" Tim asks. "I don't care about that."

"Fucking hell," Ginger says, almost dropping the dildo. "Fuck you. Fuck you, Tim."

"Shut up and do it."

Ginger makes an embarrassing noise and presses the thing against his hole, trying to push it in and failing as expected.

"God," he says, giving an uncontrollable shudder.

"Look at your filthy hole and shove it in," Tim says. "Stop wasting my time."

Ginger whines and tries pushing it in again, his breath growing faster and louder, his mouth agape.

"Hey," Tim says, pulling him closer, gripping his shoulders tight. "Just don't hyperventilate here. Steady. Requiem in D minor. Not fucking Traviata."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, panting. "Oh God. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He shakes violently once the cock from outer space gets in, his feet dancing in the air, his fingers white, Tim looking at him, really surprised the energy build up in his chest hasn't ruptured both their idiotic bodies yet.

"Don't clench," he says, running his palms over Ginger's shoulders. "You'll push out the dildo. That will be so humiliating, Ginger. You'll have to do it all over again."

"Oh my fucking God," Ginger says. "Tim."

"Yeah, I am right here," Tim says, smirking at him. "Come on, fuck your disgusting crap. I am getting bored."

Ginger moans and complies, moving his hand slowly, Tim's fingers in his hair again, Tim's eyes on his miserable broken face and Ginger's eyes on his miserable stretched hole.

"Faster," Tim says a minute later. "Harder. Pull it out more. Fuck the shit out of yourself."

Ginger grits his teeth, willing himself to follow Tim's instructions, his moaning now with a sobbing quality to it, his body hot and soaking wet and constantly trembling, Tim scraping his scalp and digging his fingers into his shoulder.

"Enjoying yourself?" Tim asks, watching him push the dildo in and out sharply, feeling like he's about to explode.

"Tim. Oh fuck, Tim."

"Like hurting your repulsive fucking hole for me?" Tim inquires again. "Like looking at your own suffering, you pile of goo?"

"Oh fuck," Ginger says, breaking into tears. "Yes. Fuck, Tim. Yes. Yes. Yes."

"Gonna come?" Tim asks, sneering.

"Yes," Ginger says, wailing, his hand gripping the sheets, his other hand completely white on the dildo. "Oh my God, yes."

"Do it then," Tim spits out, looking at black holes of his eyes and spitting radioactive blood as well. "Get ruined. Get undone."

Tim watches Ginger come, his hand on the space cock stuttering, his hole clenching around it, his face, his whole body, his fucking essence shattering, turning into plasma, Tim holding him in place with his heartless hands, thermonuclear blasts blinding him, Ginger's helpless howling deafening him, blood bursting out of his mouth choking him.

"Take the cock out," Tim says, when Ginger stops flapping. "Give it to me."

Ginger pulls out the dildo, his wet eyes going wide when he sees his pulsing hole.

"Yeah," Tim chuckles, taking the thing from him. "Tell me, how do you think you look now?"

"Oh my God, Tim," Ginger says, shutting his eyes tight and shuddering.

"Open your stupid eyes and give me your fucking opinion," Tim says, glancing at the space cock in his hand and turning it around a couple of times. "How do you look right now, Ginger?"

"I uh..." Ginger says, forcing his eyes open. "Fuck... I uh..."

"It starts with a "p"," Tim says, smirking at him, watching his reflection.

"Oh fuck," Ginger says, starting to shake. "Fucking pathetic. I look fucking pathetic."

Tim laughs.

"Yes," he says, looking at Ginger's white face covered in tears. "What are you, Ginger? What are you, ha? Tell me."

"I am..." Ginger says, pushing the words out of his mouth one by one. "I am... a pile... of shit. I am... a fucking... mess."

"Exactly," Tim says, running his tongue over his teeth. "What do you like, Ginger? What do you like more than anything?"

"When you hurt me," Ginger says, staring at his own reflection, his broken body giving tremors. "When you do whatever you want with me."

Tim laughs again and pulls at his hair, turning his head up.

"And what are you gonna do now, Ginger? What are you gonna do?"

"I..." Ginger says, looking up at him, terrified and trapped and unable to break free, unwilling to break free. "I'm gonna... I'm gonna eat my own filth."

Tim offers him a tender smile of a shark who is about to swallow its prey.

"Yeah," he says, lifting his hand with the dildo and holding it next to Ginger's quivering lips.

They stare at each other for a second or two, Tim thinking that if a fucking earthquake hits right now he won't notice it, holding Ginger's convulsing body, his radioactive breath landing on Ginger's devastated face.

Then Ginger opens his mouth with a pitiful sob and Tim stuffs it with the dildo, moving it, pushing it in and out, turning Ginger's head, making him look in the mirror, Ginger crying and letting him do all of it, letting him rip everything out of himself, giving all he has to him, serving himself to be devoured.

"Come here, you beautiful fucking squid," Tim says, pulling the space cock out of his mouth and throwing it away, dragging Ginger up, his legs finally falling on the bed, Tim falling on the bed as well, licking his parted lips, soft, wet, warm and delicious, Ginger wailing into his insatiable shark trap with teeth, his gooey hand on Tim's stiff cock, Tim's own callous hand on Ginger's, Tim coming in his pants in a matter of seconds, Ginger pressed into him and Tim pressed into Ginger.

Tim wraps his arms around Ginger after that and holds him for fourteen billion years, listening to his sobbing, feeling his heartbeat with his whole body.

"You okay?" he asks, whispering. "Was it too much?"

"No. Yes. I don't know," Ginger says, stammering. "Tim, I am scared. I am so fucking scared."

"You should be," Tim says, running his palm over his hair. "I love you, Ginger. You should be scared."

"I don't fucking know what's wrong with me," Ginger says. "I just let you do horrible things all the time."

"Nothing is wrong with you," Tim says. "You're perfect."

"I am pathetic," Ginger says. "It's like I am fucking nothing."

"Yeah, so?" Tim asks. "I don't care about that. I love you for that."

"I am afraid of what you might do to me," Ginger says. "And I am still fucking here."

"And you'll stay here," Tim says. "You'll give everything you have to me. And I'll take it from you. That's what we do."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says. "Tim. I love you."

Tim kisses him again, taking his hand and pressing it over his chest, Ginger's fingers sweaty and tender on his skin.

"We'll undo me tomorrow, alright?" Tim says, when they part, wiping the tears off his face. "We'll see my true colors, okay?"

"Okay," Ginger says, sniffing.

"Wanna smoke?" Tim asks, sitting up and dragging Ginger along.

"Yeah," Ginger says with a hiccup. "And I'm hungry. Fucking shit wasn't enough."

Tim laughs, and Ginger does too, his shoulders shaking.

"Come on then," Tim says, getting up and giving Ginger a hand. "I'll make something. I can't promise you it is going to be as flavorful as your filth, but I'll try to aspire to that level."

They wash their mouths, Ginger refusing to take the antibiotics Tim got at the pharmacy, Tim shrugging and throwing them back on the shelf, proceeding to cook sauteed chicken and mushrooms with a really spicy sauce, saying that if they are going to get dysentery then at least some fireworks are going to be launched, Ginger laughing like a maniac and pushing him and then just sitting there on the chair, watching Tim cut things and stir things, both of them smoking, Tim stabbing some of the mushrooms and eating them fresh, lifting them off the knife with his teeth, offering Ginger to do the same, Ginger blushing and joining him.

The eat in the room, hugging on the couch, breathing chili into each other's faces and drinking beer, fucking Mozart blustering in their ears on repeat for two hours.

Tim makes Ginger lie on his stomach before they fall asleep and kisses every centimeter of his back and his legs, takes every one of his toes in his mouth, licks his neck and his ears and then presses his face between his cheeks, sticking his tongue in his hole, not doing anything, just chilling out there for five minutes.

"I'll totally eat you one day," he says, pulling Ginger close, sniffing his hair.

"I know," Ginger says, letting his tentacles loose on him. "I fucking know."

***

"You finished?" Ginger asks, turning his face to Tim.

"Just a sec," Tim says, looking at the page. "Yeah, done."

Ginger closes the book and puts it away. Tim lights up two cigarettes for them and they smoke.

"I liked this one," Ginger says. "I think I'll read it again."

"Sure," Tim says, nodding.

"And you?"

"Not really my cup of tea," Tim says, messing up his hair. "And to be honest, I was a bit distracted by your cock."

Ginger laughs.

"Wanna go make me look at my inner demons now?" Tim asks, getting up.

"Okay," Ginger says. "But I'll need to drink something first. I'm fucking thirsty."

"No problem," Tim says. "I still have to find us another dildo. If there is another one here. Fucking virtuoso just steals everything nice from me."

Ginger frowns.

"Why?" he asks. "I washed the space cock."

Tim tilts his head and squints at him. Ginger bites his lips and looks away. Tim grins and puts out his cigarette.

"Good that you did," he says. "We'll need both to make a difference here. Looking at one cock up my ass is way too old."

Ginger jumps a little, inhaling sharply.

"You've done it before?" he asks after a moment.

Tim tilts his head and squints at him again.

"Of course."

"Oh."

Tim regards him for a few more seconds and then smirks.

"You want details?"

"I uh... Yeah, I guess," Ginger shrugs. "When... When did you do it?"

"Oh, when didn't I?" Tim says. "I spent like two years in front of a mirror shoving anything that was remotely phallic in shape up my hole once I discovered what asses were really for."

"Jesus," Ginger says. "Are you serious?"

“Yeah?”

“Fuck.”

“What? I was very pretty at the time. And even more self-absorbed.”

"Fuck, shut up," Ginger says and throws the cigarette package at him.

Tim laughs.

"Then I figured it was even more entertaining if you had some audience in the room to applaud your performance," he continues.

Ginger goes bright red.

"And some time later I discovered immersive theater and got really into that," Tim finishes. "So my mirror self-penetration experience is vast, but somewhat stale."

Ginger puts his face in his hands.

"Why are you even surprised?" Tim asks. "Do you think you get to feeding people their own shit as a part of your everyday sex life by being reasonable and well-behaved?"

"Fuck off," Ginger says. "God."

Tim chuckles and shrugs.

"If there is a wicked thing one can do and it isn't boring, you can safely assume I've either done it or will be willing to try it in the future," he says.

"Fucking hell, Tim," Ginger says.

"And you're always invited to join me, you stupid sea maiden," Tim says, smiling. "Go on, drink your tea or whatever. I'll look for another cock."

"Hello there," Tim says, rubbing his fingers into his hole, his feet up in the air, his back pressed into Ginger, Ginger's tentacles holding him gently. "Long time no see."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says, biting his lips.

"What?" Tim asks, pushing the fingers in and licking his teeth, looking in the mirror. "I'm gonna provide you with some commentary here. I mean, you did, so it is only fair that I do as well."

Ginger shivers a little and Tim grins.

"Relax," he says. "Look at my hole. It is having fun among friends."

Ginger offers him a weak smile.

"Give me a dildo," Tim asks half a minute later. "The glass one, please."

Ginger passes him the dildo and helps him pour lube on it.

"Fuck," Tim moans, pushing it in. "Can you also give me a smoke? I think we should take it slowly for now. Enjoy the view."

Ginger puts a cigarette between his lips few seconds later and Tim takes a drag, moaning again.

"Like what you see?" he asks, looking up at Ginger's reflection in the mirror.

At Ginger's blushing reflection.

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger breathes out. "Yeah. Yes. You're so fucking beautiful."

Tim laughs.

"I am fucking old," he objects, puffing out the smoke. "Nothing looks the same anymore."

Ginger doesn't reply and just looks at Tim moving his hand while Tim stares at his parted lips.

"Any requests?" he inquires.

"What?" Ginger asks, lifting his eyes.

"How do you want me to fuck myself?" Tim clarifies, a toothy grin forming on his snout following a change in Ginger's facial expression.

"I don't..." he stutters. "I don't know."

"Well, then I'll just give you a taste of every option, okay?" Tim offers and then does exactly that.

"Fuck," Ginger sums it up succinctly after Tim's done showcasing the things on the menu.

Tim laughs.

"Okay, you'll tell me what you liked the most later," he says. "Help me up a bit. Your fucking pike is piercing my internal organs."

Ginger helps him shift and then pours more lube on Tim's palm, following his next petition.

Tim shoves his fingers in alongside the dildo, Ginger whining above him, Tim gritting his teeth.

"Damn," he says, stretching himself. "My fucking legs are numb."

Ginger exhales audibly. Tim chuckles.

"Yeah, okay, sorry about that," he says, adding the third finger and shivering, looking at the veins on his arms. "I'll suck it up."

Ginger puts his hand on his head, combing the messy hair on top of it.

"Wanna pull at it?" Tim asks.

"No," Ginger says.

Tim chuckles again.

"Okay, give me the space cock then," he instructs. "I'll derive my perverse pleasure from anal pain."

"Fuck you," Ginger says and gives him the dildo.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Tim says a minute later, staring at his own reflection in shock. "This is crazy. Fuck, John was right. My ass is fucking disgusting. Jesus, Ginger. Fucking look at it."

Ginger moans and shakes behind him.

Tim pushes the dildos deeper and joins him in his sound production, his body gradually losing weight and transmutating, plutonium starting to split in his chest, emitting subatomic particles.

"Fuck, Ginger," he says, shuddering. "This is fucking good. This is fucking awesome. I'm so getting undone here."

Ginger moans again, his hand gripping Tim's shoulders tighter.

Tim starts moving his hand faster, looking at Ginger's feverish face and at his own repulsive hole in a loop.

"Fucking hell," he says after another minute, feeling a giant wave of heat approaching, threatening to overcome him. "My fucking face. Ginger, check out my goddamn face. I am a rabid fucking dog. A rabid fucking shark. Jesus."

"Fuck, Tim," Ginger says in a breaking voice, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "I fucking love you. I love you so much."

"Fuck, you're a saint," Tim spits out, staring at his own teeth overtaking his haunted face, fucking himself hard with the dildos. "I look like a randy monster. Like a greedy horny monster from hell. Fuck, Ginger. Do something to me. Please, do something now."

Ginger shivers and shoves his fingers into Tim's trap, pulling it wide open, Tim shaking at the sight, shaking at the touch, shaking at his own anal adventures, the nuke in his chest starting to descend rapidly.

He moans around Ginger's fingers, sucking on them, looking at Ginger looking back at him and then again at himself, at his own ugly shark snout, his own strained muscles, his own hole he fucks with dildos without any moderation, an enormous sneer on his inner weapon of mass destruction. He lifts his shaking hand off the bed and starts slapping his cock, Ginger gasping and Tim himself rattled by the spectactle, choking on Ginger's fingers and on his own laughter and on radioactive blood running out of his mouth, coming in a heartbeat, staring at his own clenching hole and at the pair of dildos he has to grip really tight to keep inside.

"Fuck," he says after his paroxysms are over, pulling the cocks out and admiring the result. "Fucking hell, Ginger. My hole is a bottomless pit. I am a frenzied predator with a gaping cave of an ass."

"God, Tim," Ginger whispers.

Tim chuckles and puts his legs down, groaning, flipping over and pressing his face into Ginger's erection.

"Give me your fucking cock," he says, and Ginger starts pulling himself out of his boxers with his shaking hand. "Fuck my ghastly mug."

Ginger shoves his cock in Tim's mouth, both of them moaning at the same time, Ginger's tender tentacle pushing on Tim's incandescent skull, Tim choking a little and then making his own efforts to choke even more, Ginger coming boiling hot in a few seconds, chanting his name and shuddering.

Tim stays pressed in there, catching his breath, trying to locate his limbs, Ginger's palms on his back, Ginger's stupid things in his ear.

"Thank you," Ginger says, when he finally sits up, looking at Ginger with blurry eyes looking back at him with misplaced fondness.

"Anytime," Tim says, baring his teeth at him. "Thank you too. This exercise was really fucking enlightening."

Ginger pulls him closer and they kiss.

"Remind me to give you like thirty blowjobs after we're done with all this mirror business, okay?" Tim asks, falling face forward on the bed, throwing his newly discovered limbs wide, Ginger's affectionate plasma consuming his battered body. "Just put your cock in my mouth in the morning for a month, you know. Instead of coffee. Alright?"

"Sure," Ginger says.

"You deserve infinite pleasures for letting me come anywhere near you with that fucking muzzle of mine," Tim says. "For sticking your beautiful cock in that abysmal aperture my ass is."

Ginger laughs, hugging him.

"I love you," he whispers, his hot breath in Tim's ear.

"You deserve infinite pleasures for that as well," Tim says, slurring the words, the warm waves starting to drag his tortured body into the Mariana Trench.

***

Brian yanks Tim out of his dreams of the dark underworld full of deformed phosphorescent creatures at an ungodly hour the next morning with his call, demanding his expeditious arrival at his place, not letting him toy with Ginger's beautiful cock. Tim promises himself he'll come up with something good for when he returns. He gives the same promise to Ginger, kissing him on the forehead, Ginger moaning sleepily, hiding under the blankets, trapping all the incredible heat he produces inside.

Tim suffers at Brian's house till it is early evening, standing for most of that time and wincing, Brian eyeing him suspiciously and asking what's up, Tim informing him he did some digging yesterday and found a perfect site for concealment, adding that if Brian ever needs anything to be buried really deep Tim knows just the spot, Brian asking him what kind of drugs he's on, Tim saying it is just a delicate mixture of excrements and chocolate.

He stops by the supermarket before he comes back home to refill his supply of cigarettes and picks up two whole squids as well, chuckling when he sees them on the shelf. Ginger displays a somewhat different reaction when he sees them in Tim's hand after opening the door. They go into the kitchen, and Ginger tells him that John called and told him he'd be back tomorrow early in the morning and would really love to see them, while Tim washes the squids, nodding and saying they'll go to his place in the afternoon then.

"Okay," he says, throwing the first squid on the cutting board. "Come here. I'm gonna teach you how to skin these things. I'm gonna teach you how to do it some more."

Ginger tells him to fuck off and then comes closer, Tim pressing him into the table and standing right behind him, wrapping his arms around him and starting to deal with the squid, talking through the whole process, explaining every detail, Ginger watching him do it, heating up rapidly, his breath becoming audible very soon.

"Now you do it," Tim says, cleaning the board off the body parts he chopped and placing the second squid on it. "I wanna see if you learned your lesson."

Ginger awards him with a pitiful sound after that, picking up the knife, hand trembling a bit, and trying to repeat the sequence, starting to shake when it is time to pull out the ink sac.

"Let me give you a helping hand," Tim whispers into his ear and snakes his hand into Ginger's boxers, sliding his palm down his butt and brushing his fingers against his hole.

Ginger gasps at the touch, creating an appalling mess on the table, completing his task after fourteen billion years, sweaty and shivering, Tim whistling Traviata to the clattering of the knife on the board, grinning and letting the blood run out of his mouth freely, rubbing his dry fingers into Ginger.

He puts the meat gallimaufry into a bowl and washes his and Ginger's hands, dragging the third whole squid into the bedroom, announcing final exams time, making Ginger stand on his hands and knees on the bed in front of the mirror, telling him to stretch himself, sticking his finger in his mouth, demanding that the number of digits in both his orifices be even, Ginger moaning pathetically, sucking on one, two and then three of his fingers, looking up at him with wet opaque eyes, Tim either meeting them with his own and showing him his teeth or watching Ginger's reflection in the mirror, clenching his fist at the sight of his absurd vertebrae, admiring the miserable curvature of his sweaty spine, thinking of sticking his tongue into his hole, talking through the whole process, describing every detail, demonstrating unbelievable fucking eloquence.

"In interest of full transparency," Tim says next, pushing the glass dildo into Ginger's shaking hand and his own cock in his soft warm mouth, Ginger moaning around him and then moaning again, equalizing the number of bolts in both the front and the back door, Tim watching him in the mirror and him right below him, yanking his head up by his hair, touching his lips, thinking of every single one of his fuck ups on repeat to avoid going off with a blast right there and then, Ginger looking up at him, tears running down his feverish broken face.

"Take it out," Tim spits out, when he understands not even his endless monstrous history of disregard and indifference is enough to stop him from exploding. "Give it to me. Look at me."

He shoves the dildo into his own yap, sucking on it and sneering, his teeth always in the way somehow, Ginger staring at him, his mouth agape, the elementary particles of his shattering face ascending to the awaiting void. Tim throws the dildo away and forces Ginger to look in the mirror over his own shaking shoulder, declaring they've achieved perfect clarity, Ginger collapsing on the bed once Tim releases him, convulsing like a dying sea creature washed onto the sand by the merciless waves, out of his element, helpless and hopeless.

Tim chuckles and drags his fracturing body to the edge of the bed, making him hold himself open, pushing in unceremoniously, careless and uncontrollable, a turbulent warhead full of plutonium to the very brim crashing into the ground that doesn't have anywhere to run and wouldn't even if it did.

Ginger cries out, and Tim presses his hand on his forehead, making him arch his neck, presenting him with his white gulping throat.

"I need some fucking compensation for the lack of pitiful stumbling," he says, bending over and breathing out the nuclear gas, burning Ginger's skin. "I'll rip you open, Ginger. I'll rip you open and pull your fucking ink sac out."

He puts his wide open mouth on Ginger's throat, Ginger coming with a wail, clenching tight around his cock, melting underneath him, Tim following him brief seconds later, hammering in, his teeth touching Ginger's incinerated shell, Ginger chanting three words over and over again.

Tim falls on top of him after he comes, crushing him in his arms, pressing his whole body into him.

"Of course I will," he whispers in Ginger's ear. "Need you ask."

Ginger laughs hysterically, his legs jerking on Tim's waist.

"So fucking polite," Tim says, chuckling. "Should I serve you an aperitif before we engage in symbolical cannibalism?"

"Yeah," Ginger says, and Tim props himself on his elbows and licks into his open mouth, holding his head in his hands.

Tim makes a full casserole of squid with brandy and cream, Ginger coming into the kitchen when it is done, sitting there on a chair, hair a wild mess, face covered in salt, smoking, taking deep drags one after another.

"I think we need to tell John about the mirror," he says, staring at the plates Tim puts on the table.

"Oh no," Tim says, sitting down as well and picking up the fork. "We need to invite John over. There're some things he has to accept too."

Ginger lifts his head and looks at him. Tim lifts the fork and holds it right next to his soft warm lips. Ginger opens his mouth and eats his own metaphorical flesh. Tim smiles. Tim feels blessed.

***

"Eggs, butter, cream, mustard, pepper, nutmeg, cardamom, onion, bread crumbs, mincemeat, flour, oil, broth," Tim says, pointing at each item with his finger, his other hand on the back of his neck. "Oh, and salt. Fucking salt. I hate his damn kitchen."

"You don't have to do this," Ginger says, stuffing the bag with cutlery.

"Of course I have to do this," Tim retorts. "You love geese have to be fattened up first. Then I'll turn you into a pâté. I'm the cooking expert here. You're just a meal."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, and they leave the house five minutes later.

John jumps and claps his hands, suffocating Ginger in his feathery embrace, after he sees the shit ton of make up Ginger bought for him while he was away.

John jumps and claps his hands again, trying to implement the same procedure on Tim, after he sees the meatball bag Tim holds in his hand.

Tim leaves the kissing bastards in the room to suck each other's lipstick covered faces and discuss John's exceptional guitar jerking and subsequent pussy licking performances of the last two weeks, affirming he'll just shoot on sight if anybody tries to sail into the Bermuda Triangle and interrupts his culinary witchcraft gymnastics with their saccharine nonsense.

An hour later the three of them are chilling out on the floor, Ginger and John just a panting and moaning windduet, Tim a blissful victim of his own satanic ritual, his limbs thrown wide, his mouth occupied by a cigarette and a toothy smile, his mind full of exuberant images of cages and feeding tubes.

Another hour later Tim scoops himself off the floor and starts going through John's stuff over his futile protests, informing him that there won't be any hands and knees pounding today.

"If you insist on stealing my most beloved forage and leaving me to rot alone all the time, John, you should at least treat my property right and return it to me as stretched as I handed it over to you," he says, opening each and every box in the room.

The windduet announces the rather rude name of their next piece at the same time.

"You too," Tim replies, chuckling, admiring their pathetic overstuffed state.

Half an hour after that he towers over kissing bastards, who are now sitting on the couch, having finished the everlasting process of digestion, John enthusiastically jerking his guitar, an egotistical prodigy in obnoxious shoes, Ginger watching him, captivated, a selfless idiot in love, Tim staring at them, furious, a horrid shark with brilliant plans in mind.

"What the hell, John?" he asks, slapping John's magical hand. "Ginger's severed tentacle, both plugs, both pairs of clamps and the fleshjack? You're a fucking thief, John. You're a greedy fucking swindler."

John giggles.

"And not to mention the space cock that I wrestled out of your avid grip the last time," Tim says, grabbing him by the chin. "How did all of these things end up here? What the fuck do you even intend to do with all of that?"

John giggles again, blushing.

"I get stuck sometimes," he says. "You know, with my tunes."

"Yeah?"

John shrugs.

"Jerking off helps."

"Jesus," Ginger says, blushing as well.

"This is not jerking off," Tim says, making John look at the pile of sex toys on the floor. "This is fucking debauchery."

"So?"

"So I have legal rights to be present every time it happens," Tim says, holding John's face tight. "Debauchery and I have a signed contract. Debauchery and I are best fucking friends."

John giggles once more. Ginger groans.

"Also, all of these delightful things are mine," Tim continues. "Well, apart from your birthday nipple torture gift."

"The old butt plug is also not yours," John says, sticking his tongue out at him.

"Yeah, feel free to keep it," Tim says, pulling at it. "It is so fucking filthy even this repugnant shit eating squid here wouldn't touch it."

John kicks him with his foot, suddenly becoming furious too.

"Fucking hell," he says. "Stop insulting him. What is wrong with you today? Fuck, I always forget what an asshole you are."

 _Oh,_ Tim thinks. _Indeed._

He chuckles.

He chuckles again, seeing that Ginger touches John with his stupid scared fingers, trying to calm him down.

"Shut up," he says, smirking. "I am being nasty solely to achieve equilibrium."

John squints at him, and Tim chuckles once more.

"I've been informed of your anal endeavours," Tim elaborates. "And I am not happy with the results. So we're gonna give it another shot. A really nice sugary insulin shot. So, as you see, I am just trying to recompense for that in advance."

"Alright," Tim says, sitting on the bed next to the kissing bastards. "Let me see if I have a full grasp of our objectives here before we get going."

The kissing bastards stop with the kissing and turn their heads to him.

"So no crying, no insults, no shit talk, no shit in general, no pain, no suffering, no fun at all," he says, bending his fingers one by one. "And no freaking out, obviously."

"Yeah," John nods.

"That's dumb," Tim says, taking a drag. "That's like eating the cone and refusing the ice cream. That's like fucking your pretty mouth and not coming in it. It's boring."

"Fuck you," John says. "That's what we want. You promised you'd be nice."

Tim laughs and looks at Ginger. Ginger nods as well.

"Interesting," Tim says, raising an eyebrow. "Alright, whatever. Who am I to have an opinion? I am just a helping hand here."

 _Just a helping hand and a stiff cock_ , Tim thinks, puffing out the smoke.

John sticks his tongue out at him.

"What are we gonna do?" Ginger asks.

"Well, you told me about your successful conversational fingering," Tim says, opening the lube. "Let's try and elevate it to the next level. John'll finger you and I'll finger John and you'll tell each other exactly how much you enjoy those amazing sensations and I'll choke on your fucking syrup."

Ginger smiles at him and John slaps his thigh.

"Then what?" John asks, licking his lips.

"Then you'll get to go through the gates of heaven," Tim says, pushing both the bastards to lie down. "To fly there on a broomstick, to be precise. Come on, let's get both of you worked up."

The process gets curbed a little around the time John's magical spaghetti fingers tread into Ginger's sacred passage, both the kissing bastards changing coloration temporarily and Tim gritting his teeth, the bathroom reclusion and twenty minutes of crying way too vivid in their minds, but then Tim pushes John's scared face on Ginger's scared cock, sticking his own fingers inside John and thus starting his obscene recital, which turns out to be very inspiring for Ginger, so few minutes later the kissing bastards turn into moaning ones, Ginger on his back with his legs thrown wide open, John's talented digits dancing a merry little dance inside his problematic hole, John himself on his hands and knees, rocking his hips and fucking himself on Tim's helpful extremities, both the bastards casually chatting about the details of this manual entertainment they love so much, but still less than each other, Tim continuing to grit his teeth and full of nuclear joy, wondering just how big a puddle his melting cock has created on the floor, but not willing to look away to check, staring at John's beautiful naked spine and Ginger's dumb panting face instead.

Then the conversation gets curbed too, because John discovers one of Ginger's unoccupied hands and starts sucking on his fearful fingers, and Ginger puts the other one to good use as well, rubbing his own nipple to his own surprise and to John's continuous delight, Tim yet again gritting his teeth, wishing for more unoccupied eyes, feeling one hundred percent sure that his molten cock has left its usual residing spot entirely and getting bizarrely excited about it, his mind filling with images of pliers and knives and chainsaws and all the grievous bodily harm he could cause himself with these amazing devices.

Then Tim remembers about their final anal aspirations and replaces his helpful fingers with a butt plug, proceeding to push John to lean on the back of the bed and pouring Ginger on top of him, nudging him on John's cock and getting pushed away after a minute or so, because things go remarkably well, the ungrateful bastards discussing their respective kernels, staring at each other's dumbfounded faces, John abandoning reality after a few seconds and letting his imagination run wild, talking not about the plug, but about Ginger's cock he can never get enough of, Ginger just straight up flying to the ether and getting lost in there, stumbling on John's cock less awkwardly than usual, John's paranormal hands holding his shaking body gently, but efficiently, Tim wishing for less eyes, for zero fucking eyes, feeling magnificently neglected and utterly _cockless_ , one hundred percent confident he wants to be thin slices of raw meat from now on.

Then John starts whining, broken and overstimulated, his pretty face shattering and getting covered in tears, Tim's nuclear joy turning into ecstasy, that is temporarily interrupted by a stupid breathless dispute over who gets to come first the moaning bastards decide to have for no fucking reason whatsoever, demonstrating appalling altruism, John getting the upper hand in being a selfless saint and wrapping the said hand around Ginger's cock, playing a lead solo in a crescendo fashion, the pliers and knives and chainsaws leaving Tim's overheating mind that very instant, Tim's imaginary cock now getting cut off with a guitar pick and stuffed into his bloody mouth by these heavenly fingers, Ginger's pathetic oratorio losing every last unit of speech and turning into helpless wailing, his feverish face shattering and getting covered in tears as well, Tim's nuclear ecstasy descending on him once again, Tim himself diving back into the ocean and grabbing Ginger by his hair and his wrists, holding him in place, because his pathetic stumbling that is now back in full force threatens their endeavour with imminent fall on the floor, Ginger welcoming his helping hands, shaking and coming for John just like Tim demands in unusually polite terms he do, John whining and staring up at Ginger as if he is not just coming, but the Second Coming, who starts his long awaited visit on Earth in a really compromising position.

Then Tim lets go of Ginger and he falls down in John's shivering embrace, convulsing on his cock and letting John fuck into him, John hammering in without any verbal encouragement from Tim, creating his own obscene symphony and gripping Ginger's butt tight, pulling his cheeks open, fingers white and now even more inspiring for Tim, Tim standing there at the foot of the bed, legs shaking, fountains of irradiated blood escaping his mouth, staring at Ginger's pulsing hole being thoroughly fucked, pressing his heartless hand over the spot where his cock's previously been, causing himself almost as much pain as he wants John to cause him and howling at the sight, coming right after John and turning into elementary particles, clattering like buttons on the floor.

The bastards collect his broken bones off that shameful surface after fourteen billion years of kissing and haul him up onto the bed, expressing their endless love and endless gratitude, Tim immediately informing them that words are cheap and the only currency that has value in his eyes is penile annihilation he's so suddenly developed a longing for, along with remembering the relevant adjective after so many years of trying, John attempting to kick him out of the bed after that and thus changing Tim's mind about his own future yet again, Tim promising John an exciting surprise that awaits him at his house, baring his blood covered teeth and thinking that becoming a Japanese delicacy can be postponed, feeling a desperate need to be the chef for a while longer and to do some more intricate cutting.

***

Tim's diabolical plan is not implemented till it is pretty late in the evening the next day.

First he has to demonstrate unbelievable patience and employ a really atypical hunting strategy of waiting and laying low.

He cooks breakfast in John's outrageous kitchen, ransacking everything for ages looking for salt that disappeared in there overnight and leaving the kissing moaning bastards to kiss and moan in bed, sucking first each other's faces and then each other's cocks, John showing his blissful recent oral sex visage first and immediately starting to order Tim around, Ginger coming in few minutes later and trying to slurp Tim's snout as well, Tim telling him that osculation is only acceptable when feces are involved, John kicking him with his feet and Ginger blushing furiously.

He tries wrestling the multiple delightful things John's snatched from him out of John's greedy hands, Ginger sighing on the couch and berating both of them, while they are having their physical altercation on the floor, Tim managing to cull only the shining butt plug and the pair of clamps, because John insists he wants to try jerking off with the fleshjack while Ginger's severed tentacle is lodged up his ass, sparing a quick filthy glance at Ginger, Ginger cursing him personally, Tim saying it is a very honorable intention, conceding and informing John he can't wait to hear his report and see his progress, Ginger turning his scolding attention at him.

He goes out with the stupid bastards, following them everywhere they want to go, and they, of course, want to go to the movies, sitting there in the back row and watching fucking Disney cartoons, and to the excessively pink cafes, snuggling in there and gorging on ice creams, and to the mall, wandering around there, buying books and hideous scarves, Tim dragging his feet all that time, bracing himself and considering the possible real life applications of glorious cock obliteration notions his bloodthirsty mind came up with the previous day.

He refuses John's offer to go dancing and decides it is time to take some action, dragging his stubborn body into the car and driving back home, reminding John of his surprise and promising him he won't be disappointed, Ginger blushing furiously again and getting John's hopes up in a heartbeat, Tim grinning inwardly and praising John's filthy innocence. They get home and Tim presents John with his newest reflecting acquisition, John falling into his trap that very second, jumping and clapping his genuine body parts, his beautiful face excited, uncontainable love spilling out of his mouth. He gets even more energized when Tim describes the details of the arrangement to him, his gluttony, harlotry and stupidity on display, Tim feeling nuclear fluttering in his chest and chuckling, seeing Ginger touching him with his pretty clever scared fingers, trying to calm him down.

"You are blocking the view," ignorant guitar jerking idiot whines some time later, panting, his pretty face sweaty, his impertinent head in Ginger's accommodating lap, his covetous hands holding his own flawless legs open.

Tim is indeed blocking the view.

Tim is blocking the view deliberately.

"Shut up," he says, stretching John's unsuspecting hole. "No peeking behind the curtains. The spectacle starts when I say so."

"But I wanna look," John whines yet again, shivering at the touch of yet another finger Tim presses inside him alongside the glass dildo, Ginger joining him in his sound production, but choosing another harmonic tonality.

 _Smart little squid_ , Tim thinks. _Dumb little virtuoso._

"Yeah, well, you should've figured out that mirrors and assholes are a match made in heaven long ago," he says, touching his teeth with his tongue, smirking when he hears Ginger let out a loud breath. "I sure did. You'll have to make up for your own tardiness later. We're playing by my rules today."

 _We're playing by my rules, period,_ Tim thinks.

"Fuck you," John says. "Fuck you and your rules."

"Stop bitching," Tim says. "Just give it a few days. I'll let you observe your greedy hole for as long as you want after that. I can be your audience too. Applaud your stellar anal gigs and everything."

John moans obscenely, inspired by the concept and by Tim's fingers turning his indeed avaricious ass into a truly remarkable cavity, Ginger holding him with his shaking tentacles, Tim's silent support team, Tim relishing the taste of blood on his tongue.

A minute later Tim deems John's quarry exhausted enough and starts the space cock on its exploration.

A few seconds later John tears their universe apart vocally.

A brief moment after that Tim opens the curtains.

"Oh my fucking God," John says, turning bright red, his mouth falling open, his eyes wide, his face terrified, Tim laughing out loud, his teeth growing several meters larger, Tim himself reminded of things long past and feeling several years younger, Ginger having a seizure and John joining him at once.

"I... I... Oh my God," John stutters, shaking, Tim pushing the dildos in and out of his greedy hole with his heartless fingers, grinning like a frenzied predator he is, Ginger's scared hands squeezing John's shoulders tight, his knuckles as white as John's are, John wriggling and trying to escape, his panicked eyes leaving the mirror and searching Tim's snout for help. "Tim, I fucking can't."

Tim doesn't feel generous.

"I don't care," he says, persisting with his artificial double penetration. "Ginger, hold his fucking head."

John goes into shock.

Ginger does what he's been told.

Tim feels like a particularly talented radioactive shark.

"Oh fuck," John says, staring at his own miserable reflection, Ginger's accommodating hand pulling his hair, Tim admiring his shattering features. "Oh my God. Oh fuck."

"What, John," Tim asks. "Do you maybe have a tendency to bite off a little more than you can chew? You filthy idiot. Look at yourself. Look at yourself and come for me."

John breaks into tears, Tim utterly delighted by the fact and also extremely grateful to his previous self, who applied his premonition skills wisely and dragged Ginger into the bathroom over John's loud and obnoxious protests and then loud and obnoxious banging and jerked both him and himself off, fast and ruthless, whispering horrible words of deep affection in Ginger's ear to expedite the process, and thus allowed his contemporary self to avoid failure by coming in his pants right there and then.

John breaks into tears, Ginger completely rattled by the sight and muttering at once, trying to interrupt the spectatle, trying in vain, Tim using a certain four letter word to shut him up, Ginger getting reminded of his own pretty recent downfall and gulping, turning his face away from Tim, evading his shit eating grin, but no doubt considering his own shit eating behaviour, turning his face to look at John, using a quite different four letter word to soothe him and adding that it is all okay.

John breaks into elementary particles, and Tim thinks that Ginger's assessment is only partially true, his profound love indeed in the air, but nothing, not a single thing okay, because Tim demands John give it to him and John complies, coming and clenching around the dildos, face shattering into something horrible and alien and from outer space, John unable to turn it away from the mirror and evade the disillusionment, staring at the monster who's been hiding behind his beautiful features all that time, Tim fucking him through his orgasmic writhing, staring back at him, his own leviathan on a promenade as well.

John breaks into elementary particles, and Tim wonders if this deadly release of thermonuclear energy did the trick or further discussion is also needed, pulling the dildos out of John, John's flawless legs falling down on the bed, John's ideal body convulsing, Ginger falling down on the bed too, drowning him in his boiling plasma, kissing his miserable face covered in tears, whispering everything Tim whispered to himself not so long ago, but with much less merciless ambiguity, Tim collapsing as well, grabbing the cigarettes and shoving one in his highly content trap.

"Fucking hell, Ginger," John whispers, shivering, the smoke Tim's blowing out landing on his beautiful naked spine. "My fucking fucking fucking ass."

Ginger pulls John's talkative remains even closer and insists his ass is pure perfection.

"God, Ginger," John whispers again, shaking, the nuclear explosion gas Tim's exhaling landing on his beautiful broken spine too. "Have you seen my fucking face?"

Ginger crawls inside John's chatty corpse and asserts his face is both beautiful and loved.

"His face is both a narcissistic gay icon and his magical portrait, Ginj," Tim interjects.

"Fuck off," Ginger says, no doubt getting the reference.

"What?" John asks, demonstrating his lack of literary knowledge.

"Fucking hell, Ginger," John whispers, shuddering, the radioactive blood Tim spits out with a chuckle creating decadent art pieces on his beautiful horrified spine. "Did you look at yourself too?"

John's revived carcass pulls Ginger closer, when Ginger confirms his speculation.

"God, Ginger," John whispers again, going tense, Tim's sharp teeth he now understands he'll need to sink into John's beautiful irreverent spine even deeper to do the trick that he now understands hasn't been done overtaking Tim's shark snout. "What did that sick motherfucker force you to do?"

John's furious cadaver abandons Ginger's plasma in favour of kicking Tim, when Ginger describes their initial mirror arrangement.

"And after he did that," Tim continues, trying to dodge John's feet, because Ginger omits certain important details. "He also gave a pretty accurate evaluation of his own nature, John. And had his favorite snack."

"Fuck you," Ginger says, no doubt feeling nostalgic.

"What?!" John says, demonstrating his incredible skills and causing Tim some unsexy pain.

"Shut up, both of you," Tim says, putting out his cigarette and falling down on the pile of limbs next to him like a very determined warhead. "Ungrateful bastards. We're facing our fears here."

"Yeah?" John asks, trying to push him off the bed and failing spectacularly. "And what fear did you fucking face?"

"Well, I conjured this visionary idea while jerking off in front of the mirror, alone and forsaken by you morons, so like, that one?" Tim readily explains, grabbing John's wriggling frame, his heartless hands brushing against Ginger's scared ones on his marble skin.

John giggles obnoxiously.

Ginger covers his cruel extremities with his tender tentacles.

"And I also looked into the abyss, of course," Tim adds, gradually drifting off.

***

The next morning begins somewhat late and somewhat disappointingly.

Ginger's phone starts buzzing while all three of them are still in bed, guys who's been turning him into a deplorable furry creature in conceited attempts to earn cult following and a shit ton of money demanding his sorry ass at the studio, Tim getting really upset over his most treasured morning wood leaving the said bed in favour of producing music and demanding to know in really impolite terms what was the point of switching bands if you still end up slaving away for assholes, John just getting up and being insufferable, jerking off Tim's guitars and demanding infinite pleasures from Tim in even more impolite terms.

Tim has reservations about this particular request.

Tim has clear understanding that more terror is needed.

Tim has a lot of slaving away for assholes of his own to finish.

He gets a call from Ginger three hours later, Ginger apologizing and saying he'll only come back in the evening.

He gets up from his computer, having suffered through John's incessant shredding for these three hours, thinking that this day is as good as any.

He drags the rope out of the darkest corner of his house and visits the darkest corner of his mind, deciding to commence with the second part of his diabolical plan right away.

His sweet guitar jerking idiot, of course, excitedly jumps in his trap again, because he never learns.

Tim ties John up, turning him into a bizarre deformed creature with his legs spread and his knees bent.

John shows some appreciation of his efforts.

Tim offers to additionally stuff his greedy hole with a shining plug he managed to wrestle back to diversify the experience.

John displays an enormous volume of agitation.

Tim slaps his pretty face, drawing a delicate mixture of tearing up and obscene sound production, and sticks every one of his heartless fingers in his pretty mouth one by one.

"Want my cock?" Tim inquires after that.

Of course, John wants his cock.

"Want to look at yourself?" Tim questions him further.

Of course, John wants to look.

 _Child's play_ , Tim thinks, coming boiling hot in John's whining mouth, the mass destruction device in his chest fiery in anticipation of a disaster, John moaning around him, glancing up to look at Tim's smirking snout and down to look at his own blissful reflection.

"Hot," John says, giggling, after Tim stands up, lighting up a cigarette. "Make me come now."

Tim takes a deep drag, looking at his happy gullible face.

"Nah," he says.

He leaves the room, ignoring John's protests that have never before been that loud and that obnoxious, and enters the kitchen, taking out the ingredients he'll need for the bribery he'll also need to commit later, taking his time taking them out, smoking and whistling John's stupid tunes he's been listening to for the previous three hours.

"Fuck you," John greets him, his voice angry, his eyes wet, when Tim comes back into the room.

Tim sinks on his knees and licks his hole with a shining plug stuck in there, taking his time performing this task as well, John's extreme fury gradually turning into extreme arousal.

Tim stops abruptly and sits on the bed right next to him.

"You and I need to talk," he says, offering him the same tender shark smile that provided Ginger with much needed inspiration a few days ago.

"What?" John asks, squinting at him with blurry eyes.

"Well, actually, I need to talk," Tim clarifies, lighting up a cigarette. "You need to fucking listen."

"What?" John asks again, raising his voice.

"You," Tim says, starting to rub John's cock with his thumb. "Have been getting out of hand. You've been getting out of hand since... Since forever, as a matter of fact."

He smirks, and John shivers.

"You've been getting out of hand from the very start," Tim continues with both his monologue and his manual labour. "And I get it. Not only that, I am fucking complicit. I spoiled you myself. I adore your ridiculous fucking audacity."

"Fuck," John says. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Shut up," Tim says, pressing his thumb over the tip of John's cock. "I am talking about you trying to pull the strings."

He takes another drag, while John watches him, several expressions starting to appear on his beautiful face.

"I am talking about you forcing me to be nice to Ginger," Tim says. "Forcing me to be nice in general. I am not nice, John."

"Fuck," John says. "What the fuck are y—"

"Shut up, John," Tim says, squeezing John's cock. "Shut up and listen."

John swallows hard.

"I get it too, though," Tim says, exhaling the smoke. "You love him. You don't want him to feel shame. I understand that. No amount of verbal or actual shit is worth any shame. Nothing he's ever done is worth any shame. Trust me, I am a fucking expert on this issue."

"Fucking hell, Tim, wha—" John starts again.

"Shut up," Tim says, moving his hand. "Shut up before _I_ shut you up."

John bites his lower lip.

"So I get it," Tim says. "You want to kiss him and cuddle with him and to whisper stupid things in his ears. You want your relationship to be a pool of chocolate. With a touch of oral blackmail, of course, but still. You want him to be at peace with himself. You don't want him to be broken. You want him to be whole. You want him to be happy. Am I right?"

John nods pathetically, his hair falling on his miserable face.

"And I do understand," Tim says. "That all is between you and him. That all is up to you two. I am not going to fucking interfere. I am actually going to help you in any way I can."

He takes another drag, removing his hand from John's cock and touching the plug instead.

John lets out a breathy moan.

"The thing is, though," Tim says, baring his teeth. "That is not what I want for him. That is not I want _from_ him."

"Fuck," John says, gasping.

Tim chuckles.

"The things I want for Ginger and from Ginger are very, very different," he says, putting the cigarette out. "And I feel I have a... a certain right to get them. But I don't think you understand that. You fucking interfere."

"Fuck," John says, voice breaking. "You are sick. What are you even saying?"

"Shut up," Tim says, pulling the plug out and pushing it back in. "Shut up or I'll stuff your mouth with Ginger's boxers."

John shudders.

"You interfere," Tim says, moving his hand to a slow rhythm. "You try to snatch my fucking food away from me. And I get it. You like turning _me_ into food."

John whines miserably.

"And one day you just might finally make a shark sashimi out of me," Tim says, grinning. "The thing is, though, John, that day is not today. And not tomorrow. Not even next year."

Tim pulls the plug out of John entirely.

"That day is nowhere in the nearest future," he says, lifting his hand. "And even when it comes, if it does, you still won't be slicing my horrible body on your own volition, John. You'll be doing that because I'll ask you to. I fucking love being a shark sashimi, you know."

He smiles a dreamy smile and shoves the plug in his own trap, sucking on it.

"Fuck!" John yells. "You're insane. What the fuck are you doing?"

Tim pulls the plug out of his mouth and sticks it back in John's hole, shaking his head and chuckling.

"Shut up," he says, fucking John with the plug and wrapping his other hand around his cock. "Shut your cocksucking mouth, John, and listen to me."

John turns red at that, his face shattering, and Tim smirks.

"I am doing whatever the fuck I want, John," he says, admiring John's rattled state. "And I'll continue to do just that."

John's eyes get wet and Tim smirks again.

"And you, John," Tim says, moving both of his hands faster. "You'll stop fucking interfering. Alright?"

John makes an embarrassing sound.

"I need you to understand that I am not a nice person," Tim says, looking at tears starting to run down his face. "I fucking love you, of course. And I'll fucking kill myself if you ever decide you don't want me around anymore. But I am not fucking nice. I don't want to be nice."

"Fuck," John says, voice scared.

"I especially don't want to be nice to Ginger. I want to be cruel to Ginger," Tim says. "I know _you_ don't. Even though you don't exactly mind jerking off to me being cruel to him. A giant hypocrite you are."

"Fuck," John says, starting to sob. "Tim."

Tim chuckles.

"I know you don't want to be cruel to him," he says. "I know you don't want to be _me._ But the thing is, John, _I_ want to be me."

"Oh fuck," John says, his perfect body shaking violently in his ties. "I... Tim."

"I want to be me, John," Tim says, fucking his perfect shaking body and fucking up his naive shaking mind. "And I want you to understand who I am. Because you keep forgetting, John. You keep forgetting what a fucking monster I am."

"Oh my God," John says, his hole starting to clench around the plug, his cock twitching under Tim's heartless hand.

"I am a horrible motherfucking shark, John," Tim says, gripping him tight. "Now give it to me. Get ruined. Get undone."

John comes, broken and crying, ruined and undone, and Tim stares at him, his atrocious mouth dry, his vicious chest tight, knowing that the trick's been done and wondering if he himself is done as well, the thought painful in his despicable mind. He pulls the plug out of John and throws it away, untying him, hands moving fast, but unsteady, lips curving in an unpleasant smile that feels like it's been carved into his snout with a guitar pick, bracing himself to face this fucking fear of his, John convulsing and wailing and clearly frightened as well, wrapping his colorful arms around Tim's nuclear warhead of a body the moment the rope gets loose enough, pressing into him, Tim pulling him closer, letting him sob and finally starting to breathe.

"What the fuck did you just do to me?" John asks a few minutes later, each word interrupted by a string of hiccups. "What the fuck did you just tell me?"

"The truth," Tim says, running his palm over his marble skin. "Something I should've done long ago."

"Fuck," John says, trembling in Tim's arms. "I am fucking scared."

"It's alright," Tim says. "I just needed you to know who you fucking play with. Who you fucking forgive."

"What is fucking wrong with you?" John asks.

"Everything," Tim says. "Every single thing."

"You're fucking insane," John says.

"Yeah," Tim says.

"Never fucking do this again," John says. "Never fucking do this to me again."

"Of course," Tim says. "Of course I won't do it again. Of course I won't do it to you. That's not what we do."

"Fuck you, Tim" John says. "I fucking hate you."

Tim kisses his forehead, his chest heavy, plutonium inside of it intermixing with guilt.

"We'll chop me tomorrow, okay?" Tim says, wiping the tears off John's beautiful face. "We'll turn me into a fucking sashimi, alright?"

"Yeah?" John asks.

"Of course," Tim says. "Anything you want. We'll tie me up and leave me to rot alone. Caulk my repugnant mouth with your underwear."

"With my dirty underwear," John says, sniffing.

"Of course," Tim says. "And we'll buy a hideous belt and you'll spank my disgusting fucking hole you were right about all this time with it.

"And you'll pay for it," John says, slapping him.

"Of course," Tim says. "And we'll cut my angry cock off with your guitar pick and you'll shove it down my throat with your magical hands."

"No way," John says, jabbing him with his fingers. "I don't want to cut your damn cock off."

"Do want cake, though?" Tim asks, sitting up.

"Yeah," John says, sitting up too. "And a bath. And a back rub. And brush my hair."

"Of course," Tim says, chuckling.

They go into the kitchen, and Tim cooks an ugly sponge cake for John, filling the dough with pieces of chocolate, nuts and raspberries, whipping the cream to pour on top of it, John sitting there watching him, swinging his feet, snatching the pieces of chocolate, nuts, raspberries and his cigarettes, whining about the smell, poking his fingers into the bowl with cream and in Tim's horrible body as well.

Tim takes the ugly cake out of the oven, burning himself a bit, coats it in what is left of the cream, cuts it and puts the plate in front of John.

"Come on, let's stuff your greedy cocksucking mouth," he says with a grin.

"Fuck!" John yelps, kicking him with his foot. "Shut up. Don't say that."

"Why not?" Tim asks, lifting the fork and holding it right next to John's offended lips. "It is true. You've got a greedy cocksucking pussylicking mouth."

"Fuck you," John says, pushing his hand away. "I don't like it. It's... It's..."

"Yeah, I know," Tim says, sitting on his heels in front of him. "A lot of assholes called you names because of your fabulous style. But that's silly. There is nothing wrong with having a cocksucking mouth."

"Stop it!" John says. "Stop saying that word. It's fucking rude."

Tim chuckles and shakes his head.

"It's accurate," he says. "But if that upsets you, just think about my fucking trap. My mouth is like ultracocksucking."

John giggles.

"Do you have any idea how many batons I had in there?"

John shakes his head.

"Well, think of the number of cocks in your collection," Tim says. "And then put it to the power of three."

John blinks at him.

Tim chuckles again.

"Okay, ask Ginger to do that for you," he says. "Come on. Stuff your gorgeous visage. This ugly cake is feeling neglected."

The ugly cake gets devoured after that.

Then John's gorgeous visage becomes blissfull and stays like that till the very evening, Tim sitting with him in the bath for fourteen billion years, washing every part of his marble statue of a body and then rubbing it and kissing it as well, brushing his hair and even listening to more of his insane shredding, staring at the guitar pick and winking at him.

John snuggles with Ginger's mortal remains once the flattened squid finally returns home, the bastards whispering on the couch, Tim finishing slaving away for assholes, eavesdropping, trying to catch his own name in the continuous strings of units of speech, succeeding in that and also catching Ginger's terrified little glances, smirking at him, and then conceding that he might have overestimated his own depravity a little, looking at the piece of paper with Ginger's impeccable math written on it, grinning like a maniac, saying that using the power of two, even though it also might be somewhat off, is probably more appropriate, because he indeed hasn't sucked four thousand nine hundred thirteen cocks.

"Yet," he adds, two pairs of feet kicking his horrible laughing shark body writhing on the floor where he most definitely belongs.

***

The next morning begins way too early and very disappointingly.

John gets up at an ungodly hour, suddenly struck by divine inspiration, and jerks off Tim's guitars again, sitting in the other room, his highly experimental licks drilling holes in Tim's skull. Tim suffers for fourteen billion years, staring at Ginger's sleeping face, following the lines from the pillow he's drooling on covering it with his eyes, breathing really quietly, as if scared, careful not to wake him up, suddenly struck by profound fucking love. Then he decides this bullshit has to stop and starts toying with Ginger's cock, Ginger groaning, Tim gradually dragging him closer and closer to the mirror. Then fucking asshole he's slaving away for starts calling him non stop, demanding his immediate presence at his place, drilling holes in Tim's skull with his raspy voice Tim's developed some really personal issues with.

John gets even more upset than Tim does, even though Tim doesn't think it should be possible, looking at Ginger's cock disappearing in pants Ginger for some unfathomable reason puts on, following it with his eyes as if it is a spaceship carrying the whole population of Earth leaving the blue planet forever and Tim's a deserted schmuck nobody wants around. And he hopes they actually aren't.

John gets extremely upset, because he had his own diabolical plans aimed at getting back at Tim, so Tim promises him he'll come up with something good for when he returns and urges him to go hunting for heinous belts while wearing yesterday's underwear, John giggling and kissing him on the mouth in the doorway, pissing him off beyond belief.

Brian turns out to be upset even more than John, almost trying to implement the same doorway procedure on Tim, Tim pushing him away, Brian declaring he's stuck both creatively and personally, Tim spending the first part of the day listening to him bitching about his complicated relationships, thinking _yeah, you're telling me_ , and the second part of the day shoving cocaine up his nostrils, suddenly struck by sentimentality, briefly considering getting one cock closer to the glorious number of John's homosexual oral adventures cubed he now most definitely aspires to reach and thus cheering up the bitching asshole enormously, but promptly discarding this idea, figuring if yesterday's exercise wasn't a deal breaker for John, this one most definitely will be.

When he comes back home in the evening and finishes sucking the mashed bullshit the snuggling bastards ordered for him through the straw, all three of them get upset. John gets upset that Tim cannot conjure any arrangement that would involve all three articles of torture and humiliation he wants to use on Tim. Tim gets upset that he indeed cannot be somehow tied up and forsaken by John and spanked in a really sensitive area by him again at the same time. Ginger gets upset about Tim's and John's mutual decision to keep the repugnant belt Tim gives the money back for to John for another occasion and stick with tying up and dirty underwear, saying it is fucking unhygienic, Tim cracking up, Ginger shivering, John starting to open his mouth, but then staying silent, Tim thinking he just might switch careers and become a blond scum elementary school teacher after seeing such success in providing petulant idiots with education.

Then Tim gets all tied up and whining.

"You sure you're not going to fall on the floor?" John asks, standing at the foot of the bed, towering over him, evaluating the level of discomfort he caused Tim, following his careful instructions.

"I might," Tim says, glancing up at him, swaying a little. "Feel free to just leave me there in that case. That's going to be my own fault, after all."

John frowns, and Ginger sighs.

"Come on," Tim says, smirking at the pair. "Get on with it. Forget about me."

His smirking face gets stuffed with John's dirty underwear right after that, the overly concerned bastards moving the mirror just so, allowing Tim a perfect view of his own pathetic state and no view of their delicious bodies, falling down on the bed behind him, starting to kiss and moan and whisper almost immediately, their exact activities obscured from Tim, Tim listening to them, trying to understand the meaning of the words he catches and failing spectacularly at that, staring at his own reflection, trying not to topple over, his feet, his legs, his whole body going magnificently numb and sweaty after a few minutes, his chest full of fury that cannot find the way out of his abominable body wrapped in rope like a poisonous Bavarian sausage, his shark face haunted, ugly, bare, skinned and exposed, his mind overrun by insults even John with his unbelievable skills wouldn't be able to come up with, by insults Tim directs at himself, his masochistic cock that needs to be cut off erect and leaking, inspired greatly by emotional and physical pain, John's soiled briefs soaking wet, floating in irradiated blood in Tim's disgusting mouth.

He listens to the stupid bastards panting on the bed behind him, his ears sticky and full of honey, struggling in his ties, struggling in vain, their sweet whining gradually becoming deadened by Tim's ragged breath, Tim trying really hard not to hyperventilate there, thinking of the funeral procession walking down the street, sounds of the requiem mass filling his mind, getting bizzarely excited about it, the musical masterpiece giving way to images of shovels and deserted areas, to sensations of rocks and dirt landing on his wretched body, landing heavy and suffocating him, the ragged breath giving way to pitiful howling in D minor he starts producing, to pitiful howling nobody can hear on account of him being alone and forsaken, buried really, really deep to decay there in the ground for fourteen billion years.

He doesn't hear the stupid bastards finishing their metabolic disorder provoking fucking and he doesn't see himself shaking and white and terrified and he doesn't feel his own body breaking into elementary particles, because he doesn't have ears and doesn't have eyes and doesn't have a body by then, he isn't even present in the room he shouldn't be allowed in anyway, he isn't himself anymore, he is just pure suffering, just pure extreme misery mixed with some seriously troubling extreme arousal.

Four hands alleviating his torment are a surpise to him.

Four hands touch his non existent tortured body, two of them landing on his thighs, scared and tender, two of them holding his shark snout tight, angry and cruel, Ginger taking his neglected cock that needs to be severed by John's celestial hands with John's guitar pick in his mouth, his lips soft and warm around him, John removing the dirty underwear from his toothy trap and replacing it with Ginger's severed tentacle instead, the thing warm and shoved deep into his gulping throat.

He comes, Ginger choking on his junk, John probably thinking of choking Tim, Tim himself choking on the dildo and on his own hysterical laughter, he comes boiling hot and torn apart and absolutely undone.

"How did it get in here?" Tim asks in a raspy voice, puffing out the smoke and pointing at the tentacle dildo chilling out on the floor.

"We took a drive to my house to pick it up while you were gone," John says, his feet up in the air, his blissful face full of cookies.

"And what did you do with it?" Tim inquires again, smirking, Ginger sighing like a dying fucking martyr on his shoulder.

"Ginj fucked me with it while I sucked him," John explaines, giggling.

"Oh," Tim says. "Oh. Sweet. Dirty. Yummy."

"I fucking wiped it clean after that, you sick motherfucker," John says. "You and your fucking shit."

***

"I'll look like a moron," Ginger says, biting his lips.

"Yeah, so?" Tim says, winking at him. "I don't care about that."

"You won't," John says at the same time, touching Ginger's hand with clamps in it. "You'll look fucking amazing."

There is a brief pause after that, John squinting at Tim and Tim squinting at John, Tim baring his teeth and John swallowing hard, Ginger sitting there between them like a stubborn currently not so sexy idiot, fumbling with the chain.

Then John scoffs, turning away from Tim, looking at Ginger.

"Come on, Ginj," he says, voice soft. "It was really cool the last time. I wanna see you like that again."

"Come on, squid," Tim says, voice gritty. "Better to repeat that experience than another one I have in mind."

"Fuck," Ginger says, surrendering. "Fuck you. Okay."

He lifts his shaking hands and puts Tim's clamps Tim salvaged from John's sex toys tomb of a house on his ridiculous nipples, turning bright red in the process and then almost purple when he's done.

Tim chuckles.

"Now look at yourself," he says.

Ginger lifts his miserable head and looks at his own miserable reflection, his miserable mouth falling agape.

John giggles.

"You're fucking hot," he says.

They hug Ginger's shivering body, John's hand landing on Ginger's cock, his magical fingers starting to pull the strings, Tim's hand landing on Ginger's chest, his cruel fingers starting to pull at the chain.

"Oh fuck," Ginger says.

John's mouth meets Ginger's, John turning his miserable head away from the mirror, and Tim's mouth fills with blood, Tim twisting the clamps on Ginger's miserable nipples.

"Come on," Tim says, once the kissing bastards part. "I remember feet also being involved."

John sinks down on the floor, moving like a filthy liquid, sitting between Ginger's legs and lifting his foot, bending over and taking his toes in his mouth with an obscene moan.

Tim rises up from the bed, moving like a nuclear missile, standing by the mirror and lighting up a cigarette, enjoying the implementation of John's ingenious idea immensly.

Ginger sits still, both his hands pressed into the mattress, staring at John's face Tim doesn't need to see to know it's happy and gentle, at Tim's face Tim doesn't need to see to know it's toothy and callous, at his own miserable and really fucking sexy reflection in the mirror Tim doesn't need to see either, because Ginger is miserable and really fucking sexy right in front of him.

Tim finishes his cigarette and decides that John's original concept allows for a lot of improvement.

He leaves his post by the mirror and grabs the lube, sitting down on the floor next to John, sticking his fingers in his hole, John being really helpful and lifting his hips and then rocking them slowly, whining with Ginger's ludicrous toes in his mouth, Ginger gripping the sheets tight and joining John in his vocal performance, Tim staring at his parted lips and at his sensitive fucking nipples and at his awesome fucking cock up in the air, getting really inspired by the latter.

"Fuck the feet," Tim says, smearing himself with lube, nudging John to stand on his hands and knees and pushing inside him. "Suck his motherfucking cock."

John readily complies, arching his beautiful naked back, taking Ginger's cock neither he nor Tim can ever get enough of in his mouth, Ginger swearing and starting to chant John's name even more frequently than before, Tim grinning and pressing his hand on John's nape, fingers pulling at his hair, pushing his head, thrusting into him, hammering in, reciting John's anal obliteration talk he knows by heart in his mind, staring at Ginger's dumbfounded face, presenting him with his own rabid shark snout, telling him to forget the mirror and inner fucking demons, to look in the eye of the real one, to pull at the bloody chain and to come in John's cocksucking mouth, John choking on Ginger, Ginger choking on his own breath, Tim thinking he's so going to be throttled soon, but deeming this workout worth it, Ginger following all of his instructions with a pitiful sob, John getting full of junk and then producing the mess of his own, gripping Ginger's thighs tight and allowing Tim to fuck himself without any moderation, apparently changing his stubborn mind about certain things, Tim briefly getting upset, because he realizes he doesn't exactly mind being throttled either, if it is by John's heavenly hands, but not staying upset for long, adding his own portion of filth several seconds later, while John is still convulsing on his cock and Ginger is still convulsing on the bed.

When all three of them are just a steaming pile of limbs on the bed John says he fucking loves him no matter what, but this has got to be the last time Tim uses this particular insult or he'll indeed cut his cock off and stuff his offensive trap with it, Tim chuckling and agreeing, offering John to pay for Japanese cuisine culinary school for him. Then Ginger says he fucking loves him no matter what too, as if that needed any confirmation, and adds that this has got to be the last time Tim forces him to use this particular sex shop item on his pitiful body, without resorting to any threats, of course, because what can he threaten Tim with, Tim laughing in his face and saying if he doesn't shut up right there and then he'll make him wear the fucking clamps all the time they are inside the house and maybe even at some other places as well.

This tirade of his is followed by some kicking and yelling, but both of them are pretty mild, and Tim gradually falls asleep thinking that this mirror business was worth the price fourteen billion times more.

The three of them continue with it for the next two weeks or so, fears giving way to nostalgia, nostalgia to some belated anal exploration and applause, applause to camaraderie, camaraderie to just pure bliss reflected back at them. Then bliss is replaced by Ginger's pants, hanging on Tim's newest acquisition, Tim's pants promptly joining them and John finally leaving Tim's house and Tim's guitars in favour of his own, Tim stumbling once in a while upon the thing, standing there in the dark corner, thinking that time has come to turn his fearful gaze to the Cthulhu in the room, knowing he doesn't need any reflective surfaces to look at him, but does need to collect a lot of inner demon strength and a lot of inner demon honesty.

***

The runaway process is set off by Ginger's concerned neighbours giving him a call.

Ginger spends fifteen minutes on the phone, explaining that he is very much alive, relieving the panic, though not Tim's, and then ties up his messy hair into a doomed ponytail and goes to his own place to wipe out the spider civilization residing there.

Tim spends the long hours without him staring into the abyss, making peace with his own nuclear heart, making mashed bullshit for Ginger to suck through a straw, making diabolical plans.

Tim greets Ginger in the doorway, catching his broken corpse and wrapping his arms around him with no intention of ever letting him go, dragging him first to the kitchen and then to the bathroom, feeding him and washing every centimeter of his body, pouring water on his unsuspecting head, sitting on the edge of the bath, getting really worried that when he removes the plug from it Ginger is going to escape through the pipes along with water, because the fucking squid turns into mashed bullshit himself, not knowing what he did to earn this unusual treatment, melting and moaning under Tim's heartless hands, Tim almost carrying him to the bedroom and pouring him down on the mattress, lighting up a cigarette and towering over him.

Ginger eyes him for a few seconds, his facial expression changing little by little, because he, much unlike John, wasn't born yesterday and isn't naive anymore.

 _Astute fucking sea monster_ , Tim thinks, smirking.

"Tim?" Ginger asks, licking his lips, looking up at him.

"Yeah?" Tim asks, puffing out the smoke.

"Is there anything you want?" Ginger inquires, voice breathy.

"Most definitely," Tim affirms, chuckling.

"What?" Ginger asks, hopping on the fucking plate.

"I..." Tim says, picking up the cutlery. "I want you to sell your fucking house."

Ginger shivers.

"Oh," he says.

"You're here all the time anyway," Tim says.

"Tim."

"You just need to move all of your stuff to my place," Tim continues. "Well, actually, more like we need to move all of our stuff to a new place. I am fucking tired of plumbing problems in here."

"Tim, I..."

"I know," Tim goes on. "You're afraid that I might use your own intestines I pulled out of you to strangle you. You think you need a place to run away to in case I try to."

"Fuck, Tim."

"I can't promise you I won't," Tim keeps talking. "I probably will. Most likely. That's also why I think a new place is needed. We can implement the same layout we used in Amsterdam. Provide me with a solitary confinement room. This is more fair. I don't think you need to run away when I fuck up."

"Fucking hell, Tim."

"And more importantly," Tim argues his case. "I don't want you to be able to run away. I don't want you to be able to break free. I don't want you to be able to save yourself once I really start cutting into you and gorging on the best pieces. Which I most definitely will be doing."

"Oh my God, Tim."

"And I can promise you it won't end well," Tim brings his monologue to a close. "Poor investigators who'll find our dumb bodies after I am done with you will be so confused. But I want you to stay with me despite of that. I want you to just stand still and take it. Whatever it is going to be. And it is going to be a lot of things. A lot of truly horrible things, Ginger."

Ginger makes an embarrassing sound.

Tim finally turns to look at him, taking in the sight. The sight of the fucking ruins he himself just created, pale and burning red and drowning in tears and shaking like in an earthquake.

"It is essentially your own death sentence I want you to sign," Tim says, baring his sharp anticipating teeth. "So you obviously don't need to answer right away. You can thin—"

"Yes," Ginger says.

Tim jumps, startled.

"Yes," Ginger says again, staring at him, self fucking sacrifice clearly visible in his eyes.

Tim chuckles.

"Okay," he says, putting out his cigarette. "Okay, Ginger. Okay, you dumb fucking squid."

There is a pause after that.

It stretches for fourteen billion years.

Then Ginger gets up and Tim takes several steps back until he is pressed into the wall.

Ginger comes to stand right beside him, maybe even inside him, his breath on Tim's insatiable snout.

"Can I..." Ginger starts. "Can I do something?"

"Sure," Tim says.

"Just..." Ginger says. "Just don't move, okay?"

"Alright," Tim says.

Ginger lifts his trembling tentacles and begins taking Tim's clothes off him without any help from the owner.

Ginger kisses every centimeter of Tim's horrible body once he's finished with his skinning task.

Ginger kisses his forehead and his nose and his cheeks and his chin and his neck and his shoulders and his deadly thermonuclear chest and his arms covered in veins and his clenching fists and every one of his heartless fingers and his strained abdomen muscles and his tense legs and his feet standing firmly on the floor.

Ginger kisses the floor as well.

Ginger sits up, giving full body shudders, soaking wet, drowning in radioactive blood Tim is letting out of his mouth, he sits up and pushes his hair off his face, tucking it behind his ear.

Ginger sits up and looks up at Tim, presenting him with his haunted face, lifting his trembling tentacles again and slapping himself across it.

Ginger sits up and looks up at Tim, slapping himself across the face, doing it ineptly, doing it ridiculously, first failing to cause any pain, jumping at the slightest touch, then causing way too much of it, crying and still jumping at the blows he delivers himself, Tim looking down at him and laughing like a maniac, sounding obnoxious, not trying to help him or to stop him.

Ginger stops himself after who knows how many instances of self-flagellation, looking down and hyperventilating, Tim patiently waiting for the second part of the show, thinking he should've taken the cigarettes off the nightstand.

Ginger catches his breath and then catches Tim's cock with his mouth, looking up at him again, gagging himself, lifting his trembling tentacle once more and touching his own beaten lips, pulling at them and smearing saliva, dropping his other trembling tentacle and slapping his own cock, doing it ineptly, doing it ridiculously, choking, sobbing, almost screaming around Tim, Tim standing there, clenching his fists, still not trying to help him or to stop him, because why would he, standing there and admiring the scenery that's about to be destroyed, spiraling down, a heavy metal object full of imploding plutonium, spiraling out of control, coming down Ginger's gulping throat he now most definitely will rip open, because why wouldn't he, Ginger staying there, pressed into him with his devastated face, beating off on his knees in front of him with an endless wail on his fucked up lips.

"Thank you," Ginger whispers, the universe having springed into existence and grown incredibly old before he does.

"Anytime," Tim says, showing him his teeth.

"Did you like it?" Ginger asks, looking up at him and seeing him for what he is.

"Wasn't bad," Tim says. "The dish is indeed my favorite one, but the food presentation leaves much to be desired. We can work on it though. I happen to be a gourmet chef."

"Fuck you," Ginger says.

"You too," Tim says.

Tim carries him back to bed after that, Ginger falling asleep after five minutes, curled up around him, hot and naked, and Tim spends several hours looking at his beaten visage they most definitely will have to paint the biggest motherfucking mouth in history on, studying Ginger as if he is universe's biggest fucking mystery, when he clearly is just Tim's biggest fucking fear, Tim chilling out next to him on the same pillow, facing him with a tender shark smile on his lips.

\---------------------------------


End file.
